“Why, so I did.” Then she added, “My name is Valerie Keat.”
Edwin had it drawn forcibly to his attention that this woman was outrageously pretty in a bold, obvious way. She had adventurous green eyes and an insinuating mouth; her lips were a vivid carmine. Red, thought Edwin, the sign of danger; a person to be eschewed.
With a brief prayer that his tapioca pudding would be brought soon, he took up his book and sought safety in the prose of Bishop Groody. But the book had changed to some foreign tongue; its pages seemed blurred and its words hieroglyphics; had the Bishop lapsed into Czech? His table companion laughed.
“Do you always read upside down?” she inquired.
He turned his book right side up and looked at her with what for Edwin was a glare.
“No,” said he, stiffly.
“You’re from the country?”
He nodded. Why didn’t that wretch of a waiter hurry with the pudding?
“You’ve just come to New York?”
Again Edwin nodded.